Rome, early afternoon. The aroma of coffee and toast filled the kitchen of the luxury apartment. Alessandra sat in a high chair, staring at her son as he drew at the dining table. His pencil lines were simple, sometimes indistinct, but there were always two figures there: a long-haired woman and a tall man with piercing eyes.

“Who is this, amore mio?” Alessandra asked softly, touching Danver’s head, which was covered in curly brown hair.

Danver looked up innocently. “Mama… it’s Papa.” Her voice was soft, but full of conviction.

Alessandra paused for a moment. She wanted to smile, but instead, her heart was gripped by a sense of trepidation. Papa. The word was too dangerous to utter carelessly. In her family circle—a political family that often sat at parliamentary tables and whispered with the Italian underworld—the name of her child’s father had long been removed from conversation. For safety, for Danver’s future.

“Then Mama should be in the picture too, right? Let’s have the three of us,” Alessandra finally said, choosing not to crush her child’s small hope.

Danver nodded quickly, picking up a red crayon to draw on a long dress. “Mommy is beautiful, Daddy is strong. I… I will be strong too, okay?”

Alessandra looked into her son’s hopeful eyes. There was a streak of determination there, so similar to the man who always loomed large in her shadow. The man she loved but also feared—Mikhail, the Russian with a dark network whose mere name made her family’s political enemies tremble.

“I’m sure you’ll be stronger than anyone, Danver,” Alessandra said, suppressing the tremor in her voice. She then pulled her son onto her lap. “But don’t forget… you have to be good too. Being strong isn’t enough.”

Danver rested his small head against his mother’s chest. “Daddy is good too… to me.”

Alessandra closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. She knew it was true. Every time Mikhail came quietly—for just a few hours, sometimes overnight—he always made sure to be a real father to Danver. Teaching him the Russian alphabet, buying him small toys, or simply listening to his babble.

But Alessandra also knew that behind the gentle gaze Mikhail reserved exclusively for his son, a dark world awaited outside the door. A world that could take Danver at any moment.

“Mommy...” a small voice broke through her reverie.

“Yes, amore?”

“I wish Daddy would come again... so the three of us could play.”

Alessandra could only hug her son tighter. A silent prayer crept into her heart: may the shadow return, it bring only love—not danger.